


Promises Kept

by Vexia



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, do not read if you haven't finished the patch I WILL whap you with a newspaper, dorks in love (but they don't know it), massive 5.3 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexia/pseuds/Vexia
Summary: One journey's end is another's beginning.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	Promises Kept

**Author's Note:**

> hi folks I have 5.3 brainworms
> 
> this was meant to be 500 words long - just a couple of vignettes from the final sequence of shadowbringers. it morphed in to the longest thing I've written in a long time.
> 
> I edited this at 3am so there may still be some typos/odd word choices. hope you enjoy!

There’s something building in her as she makes her way back to the Rising Stones; a sort of nebulous anxiety, a hope that brightens and dims as her mind goes back and forth on the matter. The precious cargo she carries with her - the souls of her dearest friends and companions, encased in auracite - isn’t truly the source of that anxiety. She already knows that this will work. Her intuition says so, and it has yet to lead her astray. Their bodies may be on the cusp of fading away, but it isn’t too late.

No, it’s the final auracite vessel that has Myra so worried. His.

For the Scions, it’s as simple as it can get… at least, as far as the murky studies of souls and their aether go. A safely ensconced soul, brought back to its own body, empty and waiting. Yet in G’raha’s case, there are more questions than there are answers - how will this work at all, if there is a soul already there? 

Will his current body reject it? Warp him into something unrecognisable? With new memories stretching a full century ahead in time and a different aetheric signature, there’s every chance this could go horribly wrong, no, there’s a chance that this could _kill him_ and then he’d be gone _for good_ , every version of him--

She can’t think like this. The thoughts rush to the surface, a torrent of worst case scenarios and fear, but she pushes them back under with all the strength she can muster. One foot in front of the other, Myra keeps moving forward. He wouldn’t want her to feel like this. She’ll bring him back - and keep her promise, while she’s at it.

*---*

Her time in Dawn’s Respite passes in an odd sort of haze. Krile and Tataru know why she’s there as soon as she steps through the door, slightly out of breath, satchel filled with crystals held closely to her side. She swears they’re humming slightly now, as if the spirits within are aware of how close to home they are after all this time in another world.

They usher her through to the dimly lit infirmary, Krile making quick work of pairing each piece of auracite with its owner, Tataru doing her best to keep a smile on her face despite it all. For a moment, nothing happens. Something twists in her gut - was she wrong, after all? A moment too late?

But then the room fills with white light, almost blinding in contrast. Myra watches as her friends awaken, slow and sluggish but very much alive, and a weight she didn’t realise she was carrying for so long lifts from her shoulders. This is the first time in months she’s seen them conscious on the Source. For them, it’s even longer, years passing on another shard. There’s a sense of deep relief apparent on all of their faces, even if it’s tinged with sadness at the things they’ve been forced to leave behind for good.

With one weight lifting, the other seems all the heavier. She clutches G’raha’s auracite tightly to quell the fear that letting it out of her sight would mean losing him altogether. 

Maybe that’s what Y’shtola sees when she looks over, knowing gleam in her eyes. That concentration of aether should be a bright beacon to her aetheric sight; it’s certainly not the worry and anticipation rolling off Myra in waves that attracts her attention. Of course not.

Her brain finally catches up with her ears as she hears Y’shtola say, “May we leave the rest to you?”

There’s a pang of guilt, then, when she realises what her friend is really trying to get across - her mind is elsewhere, and she should get going instead of worrying about them. This should be a moment to celebrate, but instead…

Well. There will always be time to rejoice later, she reckons, which is a good thing in itself.

“The vessel beareth our comrade’s blood,” Urianger states with a cryptic smile. “With it in thy possession, the way will surely open before thee.”

And that’s the final encouragement she needs. Without a word, she’s leaving, completely confusing Tataru with her haste and no doubt leaving the Scions with something to laugh about.

People have to swerve out of her path as she makes a beeline to the stables. Her chocobo seems to pick up on her mood when she gets there, setting off at a canter before she can even fully saddle herself. And then they’re off on that familiar beaten path; as the wind rushes past her, Myra lets herself relax just a little. It won’t be long now.

*---*

Was the distance to the Crystal Tower always this short? It feels like she made it there in a split second, but still not fast enough. A quick dismount, a few words of praise to her well-loved companion, and then the urge to run spreads through her like a fever. She’s sprinting the final leg as if her life depends on it, the gate to the tower looming overhead, as imposing as it’s always been.

She raises the auracite overhead as she reaches it, trusting her gut, and true enough it begins to resonate, recognising the blood of its keeper. It’s agonising, watching the doors creak open so slowly. Her whole body twitches, ready to set off again - she needs to go _now_.

The first set of stairs are already well behind her by the time they start to swing shut again. Up and up she goes, never tiring. He has to be in the Ocular, and she’s made that long walk so many times she could do it blindfolded.

Sure enough, that’s where she finds him, bursting through the door to find him curled up in peaceful sleep. It’s jarring, at first, to see him like this - as she remembers him from the day he left years ago, free of the toll taken on his body from so many years spent in service to the First. He looks… carefree, in a way she hasn’t seen him in a long time.

It almost feels rude to wake him. To remind him of all that transpired. But that’s what he wants, and truly, that’s what she wants too. Even this short time without him has been all too painful, as much as she tries to bury that feeling.

Gently, she places the auracite beside him. The reaction this time is different - the light escapes its bounds more quickly than it did with the Scions, but as it hits him, he’s lit up with a glow that doesn’t fade.

“G’raha?” She calls out to him, but he doesn’t respond. His face contorts into a grimace, as if something inside him is painfully twisting, churning. Myra drops to the floor beside him, puts a hand across his forehead. He’s burning up. Gods above, what has she done? Is this what it looks like for someone to reject their own soul?

All of her years spent studying healing magics are useless in the face of something like this. She’s out of her depth here; it leaves her feeling ashamed, and for the first time in a while, utterly powerless.

Her hand drops to one of his own, just barely grasps it, unsure. “G’raha,” she tries once more, “It’s me. It’s Myra. I don’t know what’s going on up there in that thick skull of yours… but I know you can get through this.”

 _I’m here for you,_ she leaves unsaid. _I will be for as long as you’ll have me._

He squeezes back just ever so slightly. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, bringing her other hand over to clasp his more tightly now.

The soft light around him pulses as his brow furrows deeper, and it’s taken on a red tint - his memories? All she can do now is watch and keep holding on, silently hopeful that things are progressing as well as they can - he’s still breathing, and not in any kind of unbearable pain. Nothing she could soothe.

Around them, the tower hums with energy, as it always has and most likely always will; it has a sort of melody to it, soothing, almost like a lullaby. It threatens to lull her to sleep as she sits in her quiet vigil, but she never lets it. Time passes slowly here, without any natural light to give context. Maybe minutes pass. Maybe hours. It doesn’t matter - she refuses to leave him.

She’s so in her own head that it catches her off guard when the light finally fades, and his eyes flutter open.

He squints at first, the ambient lighting of the Ocular clearly unpleasant after years spent in the dark - but then his eyes widen when he sees her. Even more so when he looks down and sees her hands wrapped around his own.

“Myra?” It comes out hoarse, vocal chords straining against their disuse.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” She wants to crack a joke, to lighten the mood and disguise the depths of her worry, but it comes out as a mumble, more tender than anything. “It’s about time you woke up.”

“It was just a short nap,” he says, smiling despite still clearly being in discomfort. “I think I may have already burnt through all the energy that… this body has stored up in its slumber.” 

He stumbles over his words in that last part - it must be an odd thing to reconcile, coming from one version of himself, battered and broken, to one he must barely remember being. 

“How are you feeling?” Myra asks, slipping back into the comfort of playing the healer. She brushes back his bangs softly, getting a read on his temperature again and not really noticing the blush that spreads across his cheeks.

“I’ve certainly felt worse… although I must say I have a splitting headache.”

She has to laugh. It’s so like him to play it down like that - well, they’re both prone to doing so, come to think of it. She really hopes he didn’t pick up that bad habit from her. The world can only deal with so many self-sacrificial heroes, after all.

“Hmm. Just a headache, right. If that’s the case, could you try standing up for me?” He pointedly looks away. She flicks him in the forehead without any malice. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

A deep breath in, and she lets a little curative magic flow through to him. G’raha visibly relaxes, tensed muscles easing. It’s as if the auracite brought years of exhaustion with it as well as his essence.

“Thank you.”

“For a little pick-me-up like this? You know that’s not necessary,” she teases.

“You know what I mean. For everything. A part of me was worried that my last moments atop this tower really would be the end. I’d made peace with the fact that a disembodied soul may have been all that was left.” He pauses, mulling over his words for a moment. “I think… I think I may have still been happy like that, if you took me with you. Even if I’d be barely aware of it.”

His words hit her straight in the heart. He’s too earnest for his own good. It’s almost the straw that breaks the amaro’s back, as wound up as she is right now, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

He tries to shift himself upright before he speaks again, but his arms give way, and he slumps back down. It doesn’t look like he’ll be able to move by himself any time soon.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say is… I’m incredibly lucky to be here right now. It feels like more than I deserve.”

 _You deserve so much more than you think you do,_ she desperately wants to say, to take him by the shoulders and shake him until that truth sinks in. But that’s a conversation that they can have another time, in a better frame of mind, and certainly not on the floor of the Ocular.

That settles the matter for her. Without warning, she gets to her feet and leans down to scoop him up off the floor into a bridal style carry, enjoying his embarrassed splutters on the way up. He’s a lot lighter than she expected.

“If you really want to thank me,” Myra says with a smirk, “you’ll let me take you to a place you can rest properly. Don’t you dare think about suddenly taking a turn for the worse after you’ve told me all that.”

“I assure you, I’m feeling well enough to walk--”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You can barely hold yourself up right now, let alone walk. You trust me, don’t you?”

His face is almost entirely red now. “Of course.”

“Then let me do this for you. Please.” It’s the least she can do.

A quiet _hmph_ and a nod is all she gets as affirmation, and he’s pouting now, in a way she never saw him do as the Crystal Exarch. No, this is G’raha through and through, and it fills her with a warmth that takes her by surprise.

“Off we go then. I’m sure Krile will be delighted to see you. I can’t wait to hear the earful you’re going to get.”

“Twelve above…”

She’s laughing as the door to the Ocular shuts behind them, G’raha still nestled safely in her arms.

*---*

He did get that earful, for the record. And one from Alisaie, for that matter - the moment he could get out of bed and move independently again, she dragged him aside and gave him a stern talking to. Myra didn’t get to hear the details, unfortunately, but he looked genuinely cowed by whatever she was saying. Hells hath no fury like an Alisaie scorned, it seems - she’s not too worried about it though. They’ve been on good terms since she got that out of her system.

These relatively quiet days pass all too quickly - she’s shocked that no new grand plot has pulled them away from the Rising Stones just yet, but she’ll take the peace that’s on offer. The Warrior of Light having time to herself? A rarity, at this point.

On one of these quiet mornings, Tataru brings G’raha a bespoke set of clothes - inspired by his Exarch robes, she says, so he can always carry the memory of the Crystarium with him. The other implication to this is that these are an induction gift of sorts. His Scion’s uniform.

He’s examining his outfit in the mirror when she knocks and enters his chambers, lost in thought, to the point where she has to walk right up to him and wave a hand in front of his face before he even notices.

“What’s the matter? Did Tataru get your measurements wrong?”

“No, it’s not that at all. They fit perfectly, and believe me, I’m grateful to have something so well tailored,” he sighs, still scrutinizing his own reflection. “It’s just… Do I deserve this?”

Her first instinct is to prod further, to ask whether he’s still talking about the clothes; to make light of it and help him smile again. But she abstains, just this once. Instead, she leans down to his level and drapes her arms over his shoulders, letting her chin rest on top of his head. His ears twitch and flick at the sides of her face. It’s kind of ticklish.

“You’ve been a Scion in all but name since you went for your long nap, Raha,” she says softly, watching as his cheeks flush at the use of his given name. He’d told her in a sleepy haze when they’d gotten back from the Tower that he wanted her to use it, but it still seems to catch him off guard every time.

“You say that, but how can I ever live up to this legacy? Of you and yours, saving the world time and time again. What if I’m not enough?” And that’s the crux of it - not only does he not fathom the good he’s done, both here and on the First, he can’t see how he could ever be counted among the heroes he looks up to.

“Do you trust me?” she asks, echoing her question from a few days before.

“With my life,” he replies without hesitation, meeting her gaze head on in the mirror’s reflection.

“Then believe me when I say - you are as much a hero as any of us. Perhaps even more so. Who can say they’ve walked away from the life they knew to guard a legacy they’d only just found out they’d inherited?” She punctuates her point by prodding him in the cheek. “Who can say they’ve lived an entire, extended life in service to their people, fought tooth and nail to save them, even transporting people across the stars to challenge their fate? Who can say that they’ve given up their life that way, and still insisted on coming back for more?”

He looks thoroughly taken aback by that.

“You’ve told me on more than one occasion that I’ve inspired you. You’ve done the same for me, and I need you to know that. No more of this hero worship. We’re in the same boat, you and I.” A beat. “I promised you that I’d take you with me on my next adventure, and I’ll hold myself to that. But it needs to still be what you want. I won’t force you to join the Scions, it’s not my place to do so. I want you to, though. We all do.”

G’raha opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates. She might have gone a little overboard on the monologue… It’s probably a lot to process.

“What’s the matter? Coeurl got your tongue?” she prompts.

“Perhaps,” he laughs, half at himself and half at the awful joke. “It’s hard to know what to say to that. I suppose, above all - thank you, again. I’ve never really thought too much about the things I’ve done - they’ve always been my duty, as far as I’m concerned. Nothing worthy of praise. Truly, I… I didn’t know that was how you felt.”

He places a hand over her own, where it still hangs over his shoulder. Now it’s her turn to blush.

“I think it would be rude of me to say no, after such a convincing speech.”

There’s a glint in his eye, a curve to his lips that looks like the start of a smirk. It’s not an expression she recalls ever seeing, and it’s… intriguing and nerve-wracking in equal measure.

Myra pulls back a little _too_ quickly, hand still in his.

“Come on, then - it’s about time you had an official introduction, in that case. Our companions are just across town,” she says. “We’re not a formal bunch. More of a family. You’ll get up to speed before you know it. Perilous quests and world saving really do bring people together.”

The smirk grows into a full-blown grin, and she takes that as her cue to lead the way. 

One journey’s end is another’s beginning; this time, they’ll be together every step of the way.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find anywhere to really make it clear, but my WoL is a viera - hence the height difference (which I find adorable, honestly)
> 
> my dynamic for these two is "yearning idiots who are clearly in love, but have self esteem issues and don't think they'll ever have their feelings reciprocated; everyone around them has kind of had enough of how they won't get it together but is also taking bets on how long it'll take"
> 
> that's just how they are. one day they'll figure it out...
> 
> edit: I forgot to say, if you wanna chat xiv lore or characters feel free to message me on twitter! I'm @zealouscrow over there as well.


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